The Goth dwarf ’s voice came out in a harsh rasp, like she’d spent the last fifty years chain smoking and knocking back jugs of mountain moonshine. I didn’t know why Sophia’s voice was the way it was, especially since I’d never seen the dwarf light up or drink anything stronger than iced tea. Another mystery I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve. Because I had a feeling that there was something real bad in Sophia’s past. Some sort of horrific accident, trauma, or even torture. Those were the only things that I could think of that would so completely ruin her vocal cords.

I also wondered why Jo-Jo had never healed her sister.

Maybe she’d wanted to and Sophia wouldn’t let her.

Maybe it had just been too late by the time Jo-Jo had reached her. Whatever it was, whatever had happened to the Goth dwarf, I knew that it couldn’t be good.

“Only one, but you might have a little trouble scraping him up off the ground,” I replied. “There was a very large truck involved. Think you can handle it?”

“Hmph.” Sophia’s grunt was more guttural this time.

I’d offended her.

“Well, I have faith in you,” I replied in a breezy tone.

“Are you at Jo-Jo’s?”

“Um-mmm.” That was a yes.

“Tell her to get ready. Finn and I are bringing over someone who needs her help. Badly. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Sophia hung up without another word. I did the same.

Finn drove out of the parking lot. He took great care to steer his car around the dwarf ’s smushed body.

“You could just run over him,” I said. “He’s already dead, and it’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want bloody bits of dwarf stuck in my wheels for the next two weeks.” Finn sniffed. “This is an Aston Martin, Gin. You don’t run over dead bodies in an Aston Martin.”

“Tell that to James Bond.”

Finn shot me a dirty look as he pulled out onto the street.

———

It took Finn about twenty minutes to drive over to Jo-Jo’s house. Jolene “Jo-Jo” Deveraux was Sophia’s big sister—a two-hundred-fifty-seven-year-old dwarf and Air elemental of significant power, wealth, status, and social connections.

Given all that, Jo-Jo made her home in a ritzy subdivision by the name of Tara Heights. Within a few miles, we left the downtown grit and grime behind and entered an elegant area of carefully landscaped trees and spacious homes fronted by cobblestone sidewalks and yards big enough for the pros to play football in.